


Found

by bizzybee



Series: Requests [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Ambiguous Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), F/F, Fluff, Gifts, Light Crying, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Rare Pairings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:06:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23844193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bizzybee/pseuds/bizzybee
Summary: Bernadetta's favorite thread box has gone missing. Thankfully, Dorothea and Hilda are on the case.Later, gifts are exchanged.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Bernadetta von Varley, Dorothea Arnault/Hilda Valentine Goneril, Dorothea Arnault/Hilda Valentine Goneril/Bernadetta von Varley, Hilda Valentine Goneril/Bernadetta von Varley
Series: Requests [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1835620
Comments: 4
Kudos: 41





	Found

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Rarepairs rock! Thank you to Melody for requesting this!

Bernadetta has lost her favorite thread box.

Dorothea knows this, of course, because she’s sitting outside Bernadetta’s door, legs stretched out in front of her, listening to her girlfriend cry through it. She’d really like to go inside, to comfort Bernadetta with a hug, but she also knows that if Bernie wants physical touch she’ll let Dorothea in herself. 

It’s been awhile since they were on opposite sides of the door; Bernie’s been working hard these past few months. This doesn’t mean that they’re falling behind, though, Dorothea reminds herself. She knows how much that little box of thread means to her. 

“I thought I left it in the Greenhouse last night but when I went back this morning it was gone,” Bernadetta explains tearfully. “And I was almost done with Hubert’s flower and now he’s going to hate me and everybody’s going to think I can’t finish anything and I’m stupid.”

“Bernie, darling, nobody’s going to think that,” Dorothea assures her. “Does Hubert even know you’re making a flower for him?” 

A beat. 

“No?” Bernadetta asks like a question. 

“See, no!” Dorothea says, shaking her head and smiling. “So he won’t hate you for not finishing something he doesn’t know about, will he?” 

“He might.” 

“Well, regardless,” Dorothea pushes onward, trying to stop that train of thought as quickly as she can. “Sweetheart, let me go look for it, okay? I’m sure I’ll be able to find it for you.”

So quietly Dorothea has to strain her ears, Bernadetta says, “Are you sure?” 

“Of course,” Dorothea assures her. “I’m gonna go find Hilda, and we’re going to find it, okay?” 

“Okay.”

“All right. You can stay in your room while we do it, if you want.”

“Okay.” 

“I’ll be back, okay? I love you, Bernie.”

“I love you, too.” 

Honestly, there’s any number of places where Bernadetta’s thread box could be. Though she’s not as bad as others, Dorothea knows that Bernie, despite her propensity to become attached to her possessions in ways that others often aren’t, she’s at increased risk to lose said objects. Dorothea’s not sure where to look, but, she figures, there’s a possibility of someone who's less well-versed in what belongs in the greenhouse hiding it away in the supplies cupboard. 

Honestly, if Dorothea didn't know the thread box by sight, she probably would have, too. 

It’s nice, though, that Bernadetta has allowed her to get close enough that Dorothea might know something so intimate about her. She never really meant to woo Bernie, but she’s not complaining. It was two years into the war - the day Dorothea realized something had changed. Bernadetta had given her an embroidered pochette, shoving it into her hands with a blush on her face and a stutter on her lips.

Dorothea had been struck then with just how incredibly fond of Bernie she was - and still is. They had formally gotten together shortly after, and though their relationship has moved at a slower pace than Dorothea may be used to, it’s the best she’s ever been in. 

When Bernadetta’s thread box isn’t in the greenhouse, nor in the supplies cupboard, nor under any benches, Dorothea’s not quite sure where to look next. It’s not like the Monastery has a Lost and Found - even before the war started if you lost something that was typically the end of it, except for when Professor Byleth handed it back to you without a word. 

And the Monastery’s big - though there’s not as many people here, now that the entire continent is at war, there’s any number of people who could have moved Bernadetta’s possessions without even knowing they were doing so.

It’s when Dorothea’s entering the Dining Hall, near empty besides soldiers and civilians loitering between meals, that she sees Hilda. Hilda’s speaking to one of the cooks, ponytail swinging, a rarely there look of determination on her face. 

Dorothea moves up behind her, setting her chin on her shoulder. “Hey.” 

Hilda startles, then turns. "Goddess, Dorothea. I've been looking for you. Took you long enough to show up." 

“Shush,” Dorothea says, kissing the tip of her nose. “I’ve been looking for something our dear Bernie lost.”

“What a coincidence.” Hilda raises her eyebrows. “Might it be a certain box of thread? One of her favorites?” 

Dorothea raises her head. Hilda faces her fully. “She told you before she told me? My, Hilda, I might just start to get jealous.” 

“Oh, shut it.” 

Hilda had been a natural addition to their relationship - it had been six months ago when Hilda confessed her feelings to Dorothea, and shortly to Bernadetta as well. Their dynamic was a bit of a strange one; for Dorothea, Hilda would laze about, but for Bernadetta, Hilda would step in and step up. Dorothea has to admit, though. It works for them.

"Well," Hilda coos. "Since I know you're on the case-"

Dorothea pats her cheek. "Nice try, darling." 

Hilda frowns. 

"All right," Dorothea says. "I've checked the greenhouse and I was just coming here. You?" 

"I also checked the greenhouse, before you, I might add, and a few of the courtyards to make sure nobody just dropped it outside someone's room." 

Dorothea bites her lip. “Damn. Any ideas?” 

Hilda picks at a strand of hair. “Cathedral, training grounds, marketplace, stables.”

“Right off the top of your head?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know, the Monastery’s big. There’s a lot of places.” 

“Right.” Dorothea taps her chin. “Want to split up or stick together?”

“You’re better at this than me. I’ll stick with you, honey.”

Dorothea rolls her eyes. She kisses Hilda’s forehead. “Fine. We can work our way around.” 

“Ah! You’re the best. This is why I love you.” Hilda takes Dorothea’s arm in hers. 

“Did you check the entire hall before I got here?” Dorothea asks. 

“Duh. Come on, let’s go to the stables.” 

The stables are empty, devoid of people and cats alike. Hilda immediately sits on a supplies barrel. 

“Does Bernie ever even come out here?” she groans, chin in her hands. 

“I mean, she usually dresses as a bow knight for battle,” Dorothea says. “It’s not entirely implausible that she would want to train with one of the school horses.” She stands outside the barn itself, trying to peek in through the door without getting too close. 

Hilda watches her for a moment. “Right. You’re scared of horses.” 

“I’m not scared,” Dorothea says, much too quickly. 

Hilda laughs. “Let me look for you, honey.” She stands, dusting herself off. When Dorothea opens her mouth to protest (she’s  _ not  _ scared), Hilda leans in to kiss her cheek. “Yeah, yeah. You’re very strong.” 

Dorothea takes the same seat where Hilda previously sat, letting out a breath of relief. Not because she’s scared of horses. Definitely not. 

Thankfully, Hilda doesn’t take long. When she rejoins Dorothea, it’s with a shrug and a frown. “Nope.” 

Dorothea lets out a breath of relief. “That’s good.”

“Aw, didn’t want to go in and get the box with the horses in there?”

Dorothea flashes a rude hand gesture. 

“Oh, shut it. You know you love me.”

Dorothea rolls her eyes. “To the Cathedral?”

“Ugh. If we must.” 

It’s almost funny, Dorothea thinks as they take the winding path to the Cathedral. The fact that it’s still called the Cathedral, despite the rubble burying both the podium and the shrines for the Saints in the main room, despite the fact that many among the soldiers occupying the Monastery replace faith with doubt more day and day. 

Their footsteps echo as they crunch over broken glass, the Cathedral cool and empty save the remaining Bishops who still, now, chip away at the large pile of fragmented stone. 

“Is Bernie even, like, religious?” Hilda asks, then sneezes. 

“Bless you,” Dorothea says, waving through her own cloud of dust in front of her. “Not really? But we may as well check just to be sure.” 

She doesn’t feel anything in the shadows of the Cathedral, at least, until a familiar box pokes out from behind a pillar, purple and gold embroidery lining its borders. 

“Found it!” Dorothea declares. 

“What? Where?”

Dorothea bends down, brushing off the dust and picking up the small box. “What the fuck was it doing up here?”

“Goddess knows.” Hilda takes it from her, propping it open to make sure everything’s still in place. “Let’s just get it back to her, yeah?” 

“Let me hold it,” Dorothea gripes as they start walking, pulling the box back out of Hilda’s hands. “Since I’m the one who found it.” 

“Yeah, yeah, you’re so pretty and smart and talented and what would I ever do without you?” Hilda sighs dramatically, laying a hand over her chest. 

“Hey.” Dorothea pauses, tilting Hilda’s chin up so she can give her a soft kiss. “Thanks for helping out.”

Hilda scrunches her nose. “Ew, vulnerability.” A beat. “But you’re welcome.” She kisses the corner of Dorothea’s mouth, then pulls away. “Now really, let’s go greet our girlfriend.”

Mere minutes later, Dorothea’s calling for Bernie from outside her door. “Bernie, darling, I have your thread for you.”

“We have it,” Hilda cuts in. “I’m here, too.” 

“Can we come in?” Dorothea asks, then waits. 

And waits. 

“Do you think she’s still in there?” Hilda mutters. 

The door opens as if in answer. And there’s Bernadetta, rubbing her eyes with one hand and squinting out at them. “You found it?” she asks softly. 

Dorothea holds out the box. “Here you go, darling.” 

Bernadetta steps back, waving them into her room. 

Dorothea and Hilda end up sandwiched on Bernadetta’s bed with Bernie between them, arms around her shoulder and waist as she props open the box. 

“It’s all there, right?” Hilda asks, twirling a strand of Bernadetta’s hair around her finger. 

“Yeah,” Bernie sighs, and Dorothea can feel it as the tension leaves her shoulders. “It’s all here.” She leans her head on Dorothea’s shoulder. 

Hilda kisses the side of Bernadetta’s head. “So why the hells was it in the Cathedral, anyway? Can’t imagine someone would take it and just drop it there.” 

Bernadetta tenses. “Um, well.” She pauses. “I was up there? Doing stuff?” 

“Doing stuff?” Hilda teases. 

“Yeah. Doing stuff!” Bernadetta says. “Like, collecting glass. And praying?”

“Ooh, what were you collecting glass for?” Dorothea asks. “Starting on a new project?”

“Maybe,” Bernadetta says shyly. “Um. It’s done, actually. If you want to see?”

“Totally,” Hilda says. 

Bernadetta stands, and Dorothea shares an amused glance with Hilda behind her as Bernadetta crosses the room, kneeling in front of her vanity. She opens a drawer, pulling out two objects she keeps hidden behind her back. 

When Bernadetta turns back, it’s with a blush on her face, her eyes on the ground as she speaks. “So, um, I just, you know, wanted to show that I love you guys.” The next sentence comes out in a rush, each word blending together. “So I made this for you! Please don’t make fun of me. Here.” She shoves one hand at Dorothea and Hilda each, and Dorothea accepts the wrapped package. 

“Can we open them?” Dorothea checks. 

Bernadetta nods, then covers her face with her hands in embarrassment. 

Dorothea unties the string of twine holding it together, letting the paper unfold and fall into her lap. Inside is a hand mirror, lined with colorful glass and with a short brass handle. The glass lining has been sanded down to prevent sharp angles, and tints the edges of the mirror in a beautiful mix of blue and green. 

She glances at Hilda, who’s holding one of the same, but her mirror is lined with pink and red glass, reflecting light off her hair. 

“If you look on the back there’s something there, too,” Bernadetta says, muffled through her hands.

Dorothea flips over her mirror. Inscribed on the glass backing is a cursive D, its ridges smooth to the touch. “Bernie,” she says, breathless. 

“Oh, you hate it,” Bernadetta cries, curling her fingers. “I knew it! It was a stupid idea. Dumb Bernie. Untalented Bernie. Stupid, weird, awful, Bernie.” 

Dorothea stands, gently placing one hand over Bernadetta’s and pulling it away from her face. “Bernie, darling, look at me.” 

Bernie gives a small glance at her. Hilda stands, too, but stays further back. 

“It’s beautiful. I love it. I love you.” Dorothea assures her, rubbing her hand in circles. “Thank you so much.” 

Bernie’s face is red, and Dorothea leans in to kiss a tear away as it starts to trail down her cheek. 

“Dorothea’s right,” Hilda chimes in. “These are fucking awesome. How much time did this take you?” 

“Oh, um, it was easy!” Bernadetta said, taking a deep breath. “I just bought the mirrors and then paid the blacksmith to forge the backings with your letters, and then gathered the glass yesterday and sanded it off and glued it on today. It was nothing.” 

“Sure, nothing,” Hilda says, rolling her eyes playfully. “Just days of work.” She steps forward, kissing Bernadetta’s other cheek. “Thanks, sweetie. I love it.” 

“I love you,” Bernie says.

Hilda laughs. “I love you, too.” 

And as Dorothea and Hilda wrap their girlfriend in a hug, Dorothea feels at ease, at home, in their warmth. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this, feel free to check out my pinned tweet on [twitter](https://twitter.com/bizzybee429?lang=en) and come talk to me on [tumblr](https://officialferdinand.tumblr.com)!


End file.
